


In the Broken World

by sahiya



Series: Quarantine 2020 [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Caretaking, Domestic Avengers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Not Thor: Ragnarok (2017) Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Tony Stark, Romance, Science Boyfriends, Science Bros, Science Family, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers tries so hard, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Trust-building, do not copy to another site, endgame? never met her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:41:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24063040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: Truly, Bruce only meant to stay a day or two at the lake house. He never intended to move in with Tony and Peter; the two of them were clearly a world unto themselves, and Bruce didn’t want to wear out his welcome. He also didn’t want to be on the outside looking in all the time, so for everyone’s sake, it seemed wise to limit this first stay to just a day or two.And yet. Three days passed, then five. Bruce didn’t feel like an intruder, and he didn’t feel unwelcome. He felt... comfortable. And he came to the somewhat disturbing realization that he had no desire to ever be anywhere else.
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Natasha Romanov, Bruce Banner & Peter Parker, Bruce Banner & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Bruce Banner/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Quarantine 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679149
Comments: 61
Kudos: 521





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More ScienceFam!
> 
> This will be two chapters. The second one isn't written yet, but they're pretty self-contained. 
> 
> Some of you asked for Steve. There is Steve in this. There is also some very slow-burn romance.

it is a serious thing  
just to be alive  
on this fresh morning  
in the broken world.  
––Mary Oliver, [Invitation](https://wordsfortheyear.com/2017/08/28/invitation-by-mary-oliver/)

***

Truly, Bruce only meant to stay a day or two at the lake house. He never intended to move in with Tony and Peter; the two of them were clearly a world unto themselves, and Bruce didn’t want to wear out his welcome. He also didn’t want to be on the outside looking in all the time, so for everyone’s sake, it seemed wise to limit this first stay to just a day or two.

And yet. Three days passed, then five. Bruce didn’t feel like an intruder, and he didn’t feel unwelcome. He felt... comfortable. And he came to the somewhat disturbing realization that he had no desire to ever be anywhere else. 

It was disturbing because this wasn’t his home. Either Tony or Peter could decide at any moment that they didn’t want him here. There were good reasons that Bruce had spent years stopping himself from putting down roots anywhere. But it seemed like it was too late. He’d broken all his own rules. 

It was a bright, sunny fall morning, two weeks after Bruce had come to stay, that he found himself mucking out Gerald’s stall. The alpaca himself was grazing outside, one eye on Bruce the whole time. He really was a deeply judgmental creature, but for some reason he liked Bruce––not as much as he liked Peter but better than he liked Tony. 

Tony thought this was grossly unfair. Peter thought it was hilarious. Bruce counted himself fortunate that Gerald didn’t try and kick him every time he went to feed him. A lot of animals had been skittish around him since the Hulk, but Gerald wasn’t. 

“Bruce?”

Bruce straightened up, leaning on the rake he was using to muck out the stall. “In here.”

Tony entered the barn. He wore jeans and a hoodie and his hair was still damp from the shower. Bruce had seen Tony in impeccably tailored suits, in skin-fitting under armor, and in nothing at all, but he thought this soft, domestic version of Tony might be his favorite. 

“Good morning.” Tony was carrying two mugs, one red and one green; he handed the green one to Bruce, of course. 

Bruce accepted it and breathed in the smell of herbal tea–– _his_ herbal tea, the blend that Bruce used to order from a hipster shop in Brooklyn. “Did you order this for me?”

Tony shrugged. He sat down on a bench against the wall. “I might’ve. Thought you might like it to have something familiar.”

“I do, thanks.” Bruce sat down next to him. Gerald ambled back in and shot Bruce a passing stink-eye for leaving the mucking-out half-done. “What’s going on?”

Tony blew out a long breath. “So, Peter’s therapist has been on vacation the last couple of weeks, but she’s back now. They’ve got an appointment scheduled for this morning.”

“Oh,” Bruce said, confused. “Okay.”

“The thing is, therapy is really important for Peter, because if no one makes him talk, he just bottles everything up and pretends it’s fine until it kind of... explodes in his face.”

“Mmm.” Bruce sipped his tea. “I know nothing about that.”

Tony snorted. “Me neither.”

Tony didn’t go on. Bruce gave it a few seconds and then said, “Tony, you clearly came out here because you didn’t want Peter to hear you say what you need to say, so just... say it.”

Tony sighed. “Yeah. So. Therapy days tend to suck. Twenty percent of the time, they’re not that bad, but about forty percent of the time, he gets really angry, and the other forty percent of the time, he gets really sad. I’ve learned to just let him feel whatever he needs to and not try to manage it too much.”

“Okay,” Bruce said, uncertainly. Tony looked at him, one eyebrow up, and then suddenly Bruce got it. “Oh. You’re asking me to clear out?”

“Just for the day,” Tony said hastily. “Until dinner, maybe. I’m sorry, but I think... I think it might be best.”

“No, that’s fine,” Bruce said. “I actually should go back to the compound and pick up a few things.” This was a lie; he didn’t have anything at the compound to pick up. But Natasha was kind of pissed that he’d never come back from his day-trip to the lake house, and Steve probably wouldn’t mind seeing him either. 

Tony was visibly relieved. “Thanks, Bruce. And I mean it––it’s just for the day. I’m not kicking you out.”

“It’d be okay if you were,” Bruce felt the need to reassure him. “It’s your house.”

“Well, I’m not,” Tony said firmly. 

“Okay,” Bruce said, choosing to believe him. “When should I be gone by?”

“His appointment’s at ten, so I guess by then.”

It was eight-thirty. That gave Bruce plenty of time to finish mucking out Gerald’s stall and shower. “Got it.”

Tony headed back up to the house, and Bruce persuaded Gerald to come back out of the stall so he could finish up. Gerald huffed in a decidedly annoyed way, but he stood by, shifting impatiently, until Bruce was finally done. “I hope that meets your expectations, sir,” Bruce told him. Gerald snorted in response, which Bruce took to mean that it was minimally acceptable. 

Bruce stripped off his gloves and left them on the bench by the door as he left, propping the door to the barn open so that Gerald could wander in and out. 

Up at the house, Bruce showered and changed his clothes, then texted Nat to let her know he’d be coming by today. _Whatever. I might be here_ , she replied, which Bruce knew better than to take at face value. 

_Is Steve around?_

_Oh I see how it is. Yes, the person on house arrest will be here._

Bruce emerged from the first floor guest room to find Peter eating cereal at the kitchen table with the air of a condemned man. “Good morning,” Bruce greeted him as he put the kettle on for tea.

“Is it, though?” Peter drawled ironically. 

Bruce smiled and gave a shrug. “Depends on your perspective, I suppose. Not looking forward to therapy?”

“What kind of psychopath looks forward to therapy?” 

“Well... no one dealing with the sort of stuff you are, I would imagine.” Bruce popped two pieces of toast into the toaster oven, set the timer, and shut its door. He turned around to face Peter. “Do you at least like your therapist?”

Peter propped his chin in one hand. “Yeah, she’s nice. She just... makes me talk about things I don’t want to think about, much less talk about. And I’m always such a mess afterward, I feel bad for making anyone put up with me. Sorry about Tony asking you to leave for the day, by the way,” he added. “I told him not to, I said I’d just stay in my room, but he said that wasn’t a good solution.”

“He’s right. It’s not a problem for me to go see Nat and Steve for a bit. Natasha’s pretty mad that I just never came back after I drove up here, and she’s not someone I want mad at me for very long.”

Peter propped his chin in both his hands this time. “Because she can kill you with her pinky?”

“Well, no, but only because I appear to be unkillable,” Bruce said wryly. “Anyway, it doesn’t bother me. Even leaving aside your therapy session, I think you and Tony could probably use some one-on-one time without me butting in.”

“You’re not butting in. We invited you.”

Jeez, Tony was right. The kid was so good, it kind of killed him. “I know. But you can’t tell me you don’t miss spending time with Tony without me around.”

The timer on the toaster oven went off. Bruce slid his toast out onto a plate and went to get the almond butter and strawberry jam out of the fridge. He sat down at the table with his tea and toast. 

Peter hadn’t replied. He was watching Bruce, though, brow furrowed thoughtfully. “I guess I do, sometimes,” he finally said. “But not as much as you probably think. Tony’s a lot happier since you got here.”

“He is?”

“Yep. I guess he’s not really built for, like, hanging out in the woods with just one other person all the time. And he seems to like you a lot, so...” Peter trailed off with a shrug. 

“Oh,” Bruce said, and deliberately took a too-big bite of toast in order to avoid having to say anything more. 

“I’m just saying,” Peter said. “But, uh, please keep in mind that I can hear everything that happens in the house. _Everything_.”

Bruce felt his ears go red. He decided there was no point in protesting––it would only further embarrass them both. “Duly noted.”

***

Bruce managed to get out the door of the cabin by about quarter to ten. Peter had slunk off by then, like a sullen cat that knew it was about to be taken to the vet; Tony reappeared just as Bruce was climbing into his car. 

“We’ll see you tonight?” Tony asked, sounding uncertain. 

“I’d planned on it,” Bruce replied, then paused. “Unless you’d rather I stay over at the compound? I can do that.”

Tony frowned. “Do you want to do that?” 

“Do _you_ want me to do that?”

“I asked first.”

“Actually,” Bruce said, now thoroughly confused, “I think I asked first.”

Tony sighed. “Well. No. But I don’t want you to feel like we’re holding you hostage.”

Bruce stared at him. “Why would I think that? I don’t want to wear out my welcome, that’s all.”

Tony made a dissatisfied noise. “I wish you’d stop worrying about that.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. He cut his gaze away to look at the water, and Bruce could see him wrestling with himself. 

Bruce let the silence stretch past the point of comfort, but in the end, he just couldn’t take it anymore. “Tony, whatever it is, it’s okay.”

Tony sniffed. “Therapy days aren’t just hard for Peter. They’re hard for me, too. I hate seeing him so torn up, and it sucks to know I can’t do anything to help. It would... it’d actually be really nice to have you here at the end of the day.”

Bruce nodded. “Okay. I’ll come back, then. And, um––you mentioned you were craving my vindaloo. Maybe this would be a good night for it?”

Tony’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks, Bruce.”

“No problem. Do we need anything else from the store?”

“Probably,” Tony replied with a one-shouldered shrug. 

“Text me a list.”

“Sure.” Tony stepped back from the car, and Bruce opened the door to slide back inside. “Drive safe.”

Bruce was halfway down the driveway when a car turned off the highway and started coming toward him––a red sedan driven by a young-ish woman with dark, curly hair. Peter’s therapist, Bruce realized. It was a one-lane driveway and there wasn’t anywhere for either of them to go. They both came to a stop and stared at each other, perplexed, until Bruce finally put his car in reverse and carefully back around the curve and back into the parking area. 

Peter’s therapist parked her car and got out. “Sorry about that,” she called. “I’ve never had to worry about that before.”

“Not your fault,” Bruce replied. 

Her eyes widened. “Are you...”

“Bruce Banner, yes, I am,” he said, forcing a smile. “I’ve been staying with Tony and Peter, but I’m about to head out––well, I guess you knew that.”

“Right. It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Banner. I’m Dina.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bruce echoed, awkward in the face of how startled she clearly was. “I’ll get out of your hair now. Have a good day.”

“You, too,” she replied. Bruce put the car in drive and headed back down the driveway again. 

He felt weirdly shaken up in a way that didn’t quite make sense. Dina seemed perfectly pleasant, but her recognition of him had served as a reminder that outside of the tiny bubble of the lakehouse––and the compound, he supposed––the world might not be entirely pleased that he was back. He’d been telling himself that no one would care, but he realized that that probably wasn’t true. People were going to care. Some people were going to care a _lot_. 

There was no traffic between the lake house and the compound. It was well before noon when Bruce turned off the main highway and submitted to the retinal scan at the security checkpoint.

Steve was waiting for him at the front entrance when Bruce pulled up. He was still sporting the beard he’d grown while on the run, but his hair was shorter, and he was dressed in jeans and one of his too-tight t-shirts. 

“I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to come back,” he said, as Bruce got out of the car. 

“Well, I wouldn’t have, but I was worried about Natasha deciding to test whether the Hulk can regrow extremities. How much trouble am I in?”

“Not that much.” Steve studied Bruce. “How much trouble am _I_ in?”

Bruce didn’t bother playing dumb. “We definitely need to talk.”

“Over lunch?” Steve asked, hopefully. 

“Sure. Over lunch.”

Lunch was sandwiches and salad in the common kitchen of the Avengers’ living quarters. Natasha showed up after about ten minutes, punched Bruce on the arm just hard enough to hurt, told him that she was going to kill him in his sleep, and then hugged him. 

“So I take it Tony didn’t spit in your face?” she said, climbing up to sit cross legged on the counter. She ignored the baleful look Steve shot at her. 

“He did not. You know, a little warning would’ve been nice,” Bruce said to Natasha. 

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun for whom?”

“For me. And for Peter,” she added sweetly. 

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “You told him I was coming.”

“Of course I did. We have a very exclusive spiders-only club.”

Bruce shook his head. “Does Tony know the two of you communicate?”

“Probably. Peter is an alarmingly honest kid. I’m trying to train it out of him, but in the meantime, I assume he tells Tony everything.” 

“They are very close.” Bruce glanced at Steve, who was chopping tomatoes at the kitchen island. A lot of tomatoes. “He seems like he’s really taken to fatherhood. I don’t think I would’ve ever expected it, but I’m really happy for him.”

Natasha hummed. She was silent for a few moments. “Steve?”

“What?” 

“I think that’s enough tomatoes.”

Steve stared down at the mountain of chopped tomatoes and sighed. “Well, I guess I’m making marinara this afternoon.” 

Natasha slid gracefully off the counter and nudged Steve out of the way. “I’ll make lunch. Go sit with Bruce.”

To Bruce’s surprise, Steve obeyed. He sat next to Bruce, long legs folded up awkwardly to sit under the bar stool. He looked miserable. After a few seconds, Bruce took pity on him. “All right. I’ve heard Tony’s version of events. Give me yours.” 

Steve shrugged helplessly. “How far back do you want to go?”

Bruce grimaced. “Not that far. Let’s start with what happened with you and Tony after he took Peter in.”

Steve shook his head. “We were... not exactly friends again, but we were getting there, maybe. We could hang out with the team together. We made each other laugh. We hadn’t really talked yet, but I felt like that was coming. And then one night, Tony got a phone call and rushed out of here. He came back later that night, with Peter. Once Tony got him settled, the three of us––Tony and Nat and me, I mean––sat right here,” Steve pressed a finger to the bar, “and talked about their plans. And I don’t––Christ, Bruce, I really don’t know what I said. All I know is that Tony got so angry at me, it was like all our progress was wiped away, and he hasn’t wanted to talk to me since.”

Bruce looked at Natasha, but she had her back to them, brushing butter over the griddle for the sandwiches. “Tony told me that you said he was too selfish to be a parent.”

Steve’s mouth dropped open. “That’s what he thinks I said? I _never_ ––Bruce, I never said that!”

Natasha made a noise. 

“What?” Steve snapped, turning to look at her. “I didn’t!”

“You never said those exact words,” she agreed. “But I can understand why Tony heard that. Because Tony is Tony, and the two of you are the two of you.”

“But I didn’t... he was talking about getting his lawyers to draw up the guardianship paperwork,” Steve said slowly. “I asked him if he was sure, because this wasn’t a decision he could take back later. And he said he was sure, he had to do this, and I said...” 

He trailed off. Natasha dropped a sandwich onto the griddle, with a resulting sizzle and turned around, arms over her chest. “You said, ‘Are you really sure? Because you’re going to have to put his needs ahead of your own. Do you think you can do that?’”

Steve covered his face with his hand. “I did say that. I just––I just wanted him to be sure. I didn’t want him to regret it later. I didn’t mean it how he took it.”

“Well, if it helps,” Bruce said, “Tony absolutely is putting Peter’s needs ahead of his own. And I don’t think he regrets it at all.”

“Yeah,” Steve said with a sigh. “I know.” He shook his head. “Tony and I just can’t get it right with each other.”

“Well, you’re both stubborn,” Bruce offered, “and you have a lot of pride. Neither of you likes to admit that you were wrong. Neither of you likes to admit you were hurt.”

“I don’t know that I was wrong,” Steve objected. 

“That doesn’t matter as much as you think it does,” Bruce countered. 

Steve slumped forward, head in his heads. “Yeah. Maybe not.” He raised his head and looked at Bruce. “Do you think he’d even talk to me? I haven’t seen either of them since they moved out. The only way we know what’s going on with them is that Nat and Peter text.”

“I don’t know for sure,” Bruce said slowly, “but Tony seems more forgiving than he used to be, or at least he was with me. I think if you offered an apology––an actual apology, one that doesn’t start or end with the word _but_ ––he’d be willing to talk. To be honest, I think he’s going a little stir-crazy at the cabin.”

“It would be nice to see them both more often,” Natasha said. “And Peter needs to train. Even if he’s temporarily hung up the suit, that won’t last forever. He should be ready.”

“Well... let me see what I can do,” Bruce said. “I bet I can get Peter on our side, and if Peter is on our side, then there’s a good chance of persuading Tony.”

Steve let out a long breath, tension bleeding out of him. “Thanks, Bruce. I’d really appreciate that.”

Bruce pointed at him. “But if I do, you have to promise me you won’t waste the opportunity. Try not to shove your foot in your mouth.”

Steve grimaced. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I ask.” 

Natasha dropped a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches in the middle of the table. “Great. Glad we decided that. Let’s eat.”

***

After lunch, Natasha and Steve went to the gym to train, and Bruce went down to his old lab, to see if there was anything there worth bringing back with him. Tony had offered to order him any equipment he wanted, as long as it wasn’t likely to blow up the house. 

He was a lot more safety-minded than Bruce remembered. It used to drive him crazy that Tony thought things like gloves and lab coats and sometimes even goggles were for other people. It was one more thing that Peter’s presence seemed to have changed. Bruce definitely didn’t hate it. 

He was downloading some of his old work onto a flash drive when his phone buzzed with a message from Tony: _How’s the compound?_

 _About the same as I left it_ , Bruce replied. _Nat isn’t too mad at me, at least. How’s Peter?_

 _Sad. We are glued to the sofa watching British cooking shows and feel-good comedies._

Bruce winced. He wondered if Tony was implying that Bruce should stay overnight at the compound. He’d been pretty emphatic about him coming home, but that had been before. 

He was about to make the offer when another message arrived. 

_We’re both looking forward to vindaloo tonight._

Bruce relaxed. He would have done whatever Tony had asked him to, of course, but he was glad to know he was welcome, even on a bad day. 

_Me too_ , he wrote back. _Don’t forget to text me the grocery list._

The vindaloo quickly proved more of a project than Bruce had expected. By some miracle, he found the packing carton that contained all his spices in the corner of the communal storage area his things had been consigned to when Tony had sold the tower, but they were all far past their prime. It wouldn’t kill any of them to eat vindaloo made with old curry powder, but Bruce found himself wanting to be impressive––less for Tony, who had already seen Bruce at both his best and his worst, than for Peter. 

Then there was the matter of the specific chilis Bruce wanted, and the jackfruit he used as a meat substitute. Both of them had been easily accessible in the city, with the occasional trip across the Hudson into Jersey. They were somewhat more difficult to come by in rural upstate New York. Bruce spent thirty minutes googling and had to call three stores before he found an organic health food co-op in Ithaca that carried everything he needed. 

Ithaca was a ninety minute round trip, not counting the time actually spent in the store. Bruce took the elevator from his lab up to the common area, where he found a freshly showered Steve and Natasha hydrating and refueling in the kitchen. 

“I need to get stuff for vindaloo,” Bruce said. “Who wants to drive to Ithaca with me?”

Natasha set down her bottle of bright pink electrolyte water. “Only if we take the Ferrari Tony keeps here. He won’t let me drive it.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows at her. “Could that be because you’re terrifying behind the wheel?” 

“Excuse me, I’m an excellent driver––”

“––in a high speed car chase. But you drive like that _all the time_ ,” Steve told her with fond exasperation. “I’ll have to pass,” he added to Bruce. “On account of the house arrest.”

“You could always wear the tracking anklet,” Natasha pointed out with deliberate mildness.

“The tracking anklet is worse than the house arrest,” Steve muttered. “I’ll just stay here, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” Natasha said. She tipped the last of her electrolyte water down her throat. “Let’s go.”

The Ferrari was red, of course, with custom gold detailing. It took only seconds for Bruce to get access to it through FRIDAY, and then they were off, speeding down a winding, mostly deserted highway, with farmland on either side.

Nat opened up the sunroof and settled back with her feet up on the dash. Bruce was pretty sure Tony wouldn’t have approved, but he wasn’t going to say anything. “Feels good to get out,” she said.

“There’s nothing stopping you, is there?”

“No, but Steve doesn’t do all that well on his own. He broods, you know, and then brooding turns to moping, and the next thing you know he’s got three notebooks full of Barnes’s face.”

Bruce shot her a look side-long. “You’re exaggerating.”

“If only. He _pines_ , Bruce. It’s nauseating. If the Wakandans ever decide Barnes is well enough to come back, I might leave. Until then...” Natasha shrugged. “It’s not so bad, though. Free room and board, lots of space to run and dance, and I never have to kill anyone I don’t want to. Plus, sometimes an old friend comes by and helps me stage a jailbreak.”

Bruce smiled at her. “I really am sorry.”

She shrugged, adjusting the pair of enormous sunglasses perched on her nose. “I got it. You need to work things out with Tony.”

“I just... never expected to get the chance,” he said, eyes on the road. “I thought he’d hate me.”

“Peter has been very good for Tony. That was true even before. He softened all his edges, helped him start trusting again after the shit with Steve. It really scared Tony at first, but somewhere along the way, Peter wriggled his way past all of Tony’s barriers. I still can’t tell you how he did it.”

“I’m glad he did, and not only for myself.”

Natasha smiled at him. “You and Tony were good for each other, too. I think the three of you could all be good for one another.”

Bruce swallowed. He barely allowed himself to hope for what she alluded to. “It’s still early days.”

Natasha hummed. “You gotten laid yet?”

Bruce sputtered. “That’s none of your business.”

“So that’s a no.”

“You know it’s complicated for me.”

“You two seemed to solve the issue last time. I think Clint is still in therapy from the time he walked in on you—”

“All right, all right!” Bruce yelped, feeling himself go red. “In our defense, he should have knocked.”

“You were on the common area sofa.”

“Well... fair point, I guess.” Bruce shook his head. “Anyway... no, not yet. I think Tony is working through some stuff in his own head. And we live with a teenager who just this morning reminded me that he can hear _everything_ in the house.”

“Oof. That would be tough.”

“Yeah. But I’m... cautiously optimistic that we’ll get there.”

Natasha smiled at him, so bright it was almost sparkling. “I’m glad. And when you do, I want details.”

Bruce snorted. “Not a chance.”

Natasha sighed. “Fine. A girl can dream.”

All told, the errand took longer than Bruce had expected. Once the list came through from Tony, it became clear that he wouldn’t be able to get all of it at the organic food co-op. Peter had requested Doritos, canned frosting, and something called “confetti box cake.” So even after they got everything Bruce needed at the co-op, he and Nat had to head over to the regular grocery store. 

“Confetti” cake was exactly what it sounded like: a box white cake with bits of color mixed into the sponge. Bruce stared at it and finally decided that Peter was not his kid, and Tony must have seen the list before he sent it. He tossed it into the cart along with a can of chocolate frosting. 

By the time they got back to the compound, it was late enough that Bruce only had time to drop Nat off. Steve came down to help her get the groceries she’d bought out of the trunk, and he swapped the Ferrari for the much more practical Prius with only a little regret. 

“Will we see you anytime soon?” Steve asked, once the Prius was loaded up. 

“Yes,” Bruce said, thinking ahead to the next therapy day. “I think you will.”

***

The sun had set behind the trees on the far side of the lake when Bruce pulled into his parking space, later than he’d intended. It wasn’t fully dark yet, but he would have expected lights to be on in the house. Instead, there was only a single lamp lit on the first floor. 

Bruce let himself in, bags of groceries in either hand. Peter and Tony were asleep on the sofa. Tony was stretched out on the chaise section, with Peter sprawled out on the other part, head in Tony’s lap. Peter was covered in a rather frayed-looking t-shirt quilt, half of it bunched up in his arms. Tony’s head was tipped back and his mouth was slightly open. One hand rested in Peter’s hair. The TV was on, asking them if they were still watching _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_. 

Bruce wished the light was better so that he could take a proper photo. He snapped one with his phone anyway, knowing it wouldn’t turn out, just so he could show it to Tony later. Then he went into the kitchen to start cooking. 

He’d made his curry paste and started the ginger and garlic sizzling away with some onions when Tony shuffled in. He had the groggy, bedraggled air of someone who had napped too hard, too late in the day, and he squinted in the light of the kitchen. 

“Hey,” he mumbled, heading to the fridge. 

“Hey,” Bruce said quietly, glancing over. 

Tony pulled a pitcher of filtered water out of the fridge, poured himself a glass, drained it, and went back for a second. “How’s Nat?”

“Fine. A little bored and lonely, I think. It’s just her and Steve knocking around the compound right now.” Bruce glanced over his shoulder. “Is Peter awake?”

“Sort of. We shouldn’t have fallen asleep so late in the day, it’s going to fuck both of us up tonight.” Tony set his glass down and rubbed both hands through his hair. “I’m going to go splash some water on my face, try to wake up a little. That smells amazing, by the way.”

Bruce smiled and reduced the heat on the pan before moving to fetch the jackfruit he had draining in a colander. “It’s got maybe another forty-five minutes to go.”

Tony wandered back out of the kitchen. Bruce heard him pause in the living room to try and rouse Peter, then head down the hall toward the bathroom. 

Bruce had added the jackfruit, the chilis, and the coconut milk to the curry when Peter finally appeared. He looked even more zoned out than Tony, his hair standing on end and his eyes a little red. He was wearing an oversized MIT sweatshirt and shorts, and he looked about ten years old. 

“Smells good,” he mumbled, going over to poke through the bags. “Did you get my cake?”

“It’s in there. Frosting, too.”

Peter made a triumphant noise, finally coming up with both items. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” Bruce covered the curry so it could simmer. He’d cheated by buying frozen basmati rice, since his rice-making skills were rusty. He got the package out of the freezer and a bowl out of the cupboard. 

Peter had retrieved a mixing bowl, dumped the contents of the box mix into it, and started adding eggs and oil and water. He still looked rather zombie-like, and he wasn’t bothering with measuring anything, but it seemed like he knew what he was doing nevertheless.

“Want me to preheat the oven?” Bruce asked, after Peter had spent two or three minutes whisking the batter and staring at nothing. 

“Oh, yeah,” Peter said, blinking. “That’s a good idea.”

Bruce glanced at the back of the box and set the oven to 375. “So why confetti cake?”

“My aunt used to make it for me.” Peter’s voice only sounded a little strained, but Bruce glanced at him anyway. He was staring down at the mixing bowl in his arms. “She was a terrible cook––like, really, really bad, she could burn pasta, and as an Italian that shouldn’t have been genetically possible. But she knew how to dress up a box cake mix. So when I was feeling down, she’d make one and we’d eat it straight out of the pan while watching _Star Trek_ or terrible reality TV.”

“How do you dress up a box cake mix? Frosting?”

“Well, yeah, but also you can make fillings out of whatever you have in the cupboard. Here, I’ll show you.” Peter sprayed a glass dish with cooking spray, then poured half the cake batter into it, using a silicone spatula to push it into all the corners. He opened the fridge and stared inside for a while, before finally emerging with a jar of raspberry jam, a jar of apricot jam, a jar of Nutella, and a container of whipped cream cheese.

“So now you just drop the fillings wherever,” Peter said, opening one of the jam jars. “So it’s kind of like a surprise whenever you put your fork in. You might get raspberry jam or you might get Nutella.”

“Huh,” Bruce said. “That sounds like fun. Chaotic, but fun.”

“It is.” Peter didn’t look up from carefully spooning dollops of raspberry jam into the pan. “My aunt was really good at that sort of thing. We never had a lot of money, especially after my uncle died, but she was a master at taking something cheap and simple and making it fun.”

“So the opposite of Tony, then?”

Peter smiled. “Yeah, kind of. The more expensive and complicated the better, as far as Tony’s concerned. Which took me a while to get used to. But now I’m okay with the idea that sometimes we’re going to build a totally new AI just because he has something he wants to test out, and he’s okay with the idea that sometimes I’m going to want to make a box cake with a bunch of crazy fillings baked in.”

Bruce put the rice in the microwave to cook, then went over and picked up the jar of Nutella and a spoon. He started dropping dollops of it into the cake. Peter put the lid on the raspberry jam and broke out the whipped cream cheese. 

They had just about managed to cover the entire pan with a colorful hodgepodge when Tony returned, looking rather more awake. He put his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “Mmm, May Cake,” he said. He kissed Peter on the side of the head. “How we doing, kid?”

Peter sighed quietly, knocking his head back against Tony’s shoulder. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Once they were done with the fillings, Peter poured the rest of the batter over the top and slid the cake into the oven. Bruce peeked at the curry and decided it was done. The three of them dished themselves up and sat down at the dining table. Bruce and Tony each had a beer, and Peter poured himself a glass of orange juice and seltzer. 

The meal was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Tony and Peter were clearly still feeling drained, but they made happy, satisfied noises about the curry. Bruce tried not to critique it to death, even in his own head. Curry was forgiving, after all, and he hadn’t overcooked it; the vegetables still had form and flavor, and it was the right level of spice. Peter ate one enormous plate and went back for more, his appetite apparently awakened. Bruce told them about his trip to Ithaca with Natasha, including the expansive herbal tea selection at the health food store, and how Natasha had bought the most obscure vegetables she could find, intending to pickle them in jars and horrify Steve. 

“I miss Nat,” Peter said abruptly. They’d finished eating and cleared the table; Peter was frosting the cake that had come out of the oven, while Tony and Bruce did the washing up. 

“She misses you, too,” Bruce replied. 

“We could have her up for dinner,” Tony said. “Maybe next weekend?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” Peter said. “Or... maybe we could go to the compound?”

Tony was silent for a moment. “Maybe,” he finally said. “We can talk about it, anyway.”

Peter didn’t push, and Bruce decided not to, either. He didn’t want to risk an argument, not with the smell of curry and cake filling the kitchen, to a strange but cozily domestic effect. Not when Peter’s eyes were finally brighter, and Tony looked less tired than he had even that morning. 

They ate Peter’s “May Cake” in living room, sitting around the coffee table, with the next episode of _Queer Eye_ on in the background. Peter sat on the ground with his back to the sofa, leaning against Tony’s legs, while Tony leaned against Bruce. Bruce dipped his fork in whenever the cake came his way. It was kind of fun never to know exactly what he was going to get. He liked the forkful that was a mix of raspberry jam and Nutella the best, he decided, but it was all delicious. 

Despite his nap late in the day, Peter went upstairs to bed after only two episodes. Tony followed him up. Bruce turned off the TV and went into the kitchen. He washed the cake pan and put it in the drain to dry, then put the kettle on. He made a cup of the oolong he’d picked up that afternoon and took it out to the front porch, where he settled on the swing. 

There was just the slightest breeze, enough to cause ripples on the water but not enough to drive him inside. It was cool at night still. The day had been warm but the nighttime air had a bite to it. 

_Maybe I can stay here_.

The thought drifted into his mind, as though carried in by the night air. To Bruce’s surprise, he didn’t immediately recoil and remind himself in the harshest terms that it wasn’t his decision, and he shouldn’t expect anything from Tony, shouldn’t presume that he had a place in this bubble he’d built with Peter. Tony had sent him away today, but he’d also wanted him to come back. Tony had let Bruce take care of him and Peter; Peter had let Bruce share the cake named after his aunt; they both had let him be close to them on a hard day.

Bruce sipped his tea and closed his eyes. 

The screen door scratched in its track. He opened them again. “Room for two out here?” Tony asked.

“Of course,” Bruce said, moving over. 

Tony settled beside him, a mug of tea in his own hand––orange blossom, but the smell of it. 

“I thought you might’ve gone to bed,” Bruce said. 

“Nah, I’m wide awake. I’ll be up for hours,” Tony sighed. “Just wanted to make sure Pete was able to settle down.”

“He seemed to be feeling better after dinner.”

“Yeah, I think so.” Tony was quiet. He moved the swing gently with his foot. Bruce let him find a rhythm, then joined him in nudging it back and forth. It didn’t creak at all. “Thank you, for everything you did today. For being okay with leaving, but also for coming back. For dinner and helping Peter with the cake, and just––just being here. Thank you.”

Bruce blinked rapidly to try and clear the dampness from his eyes. He still didn’t know what to do with this new Tony sometimes, who was so much more open and direct than the Tony he’d known before had ever been. “It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing. Hey.”

Bruce looked at Tony. Tony cupped the side of his and traced the arch of Bruce’s cheekbone with his thumb. Bruce’s breath caught in his throat. 

Tony kissed him. 

Bruce had seen it coming, but it was somehow still unexpected. He sank into it, like sinking into a hot bath at the end of the long day. He tilted his head for a better angle; Tony hooked two fingers into the collar of Bruce’s shirt and pulled him closer. 

After a few seconds, Tony pulled back, but he didn’t let go of Bruce’s shirt. “It wasn’t nothing,” he repeated. “Thank you.”

Bruce reached up and covered Tony’s hand holding onto his shirt with his. He squeezed it gently. “It’s my pleasure.”

Tony gave him a smile tinged with ruefulness. “I’m going to go break some things in the garage. Want to join me?”

“In a minute.” 

Tony kissed him again and got up, taking his mug with him. Bruce watched him go down the stairs and up the path to the garage. 

Bruce sipped his tea and breathed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I need to go to New York for the day. There’s an issue with Stark Industries that requires... special attention.” 
> 
> “Better you than me,” Bruce said. Then he stopped. “Wait. Isn’t it––?”
> 
> “Yeah,” Tony said slowly. “It’s a therapy day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Fuzzyboo for beta reading this!
> 
> I have no idea why this 7500 words took six weeks to produce.

“If you don’t move around, this will go much faster,” Bruce told Gerald sternly. “If I have to chase you, it’s just going to drag it out.”

Gerald snorted. He sounded skeptical, but he held still while Bruce started brushing him in long strokes. “See, we’ll get all this debris off of you, and then in a week or two, we’ll get someone out to shear you, which all the books say you’ll hate. But Siobahn in town said she’d spin it for us into yarn. Now I just have to learn how to knit, so I can make Peter a hat for when he gets cold.”

“Am I interrupting?”

Bruce jumped. Tony was leaning in the doorway to the barn, looking deeply incongruous in a three-piece suit––the sort of thing he’d worn almost every day once upon a time. Bruce hadn’t seen him in one since he’d been back. “Ah, no,” Bruce said, frowning. 

“Because I understand that you and Gerald have a deep, philosophical connection,” Tony continued, coming further into the barn.

“You can go ahead and kick him,” Bruce told Gerald. 

“ _Rude_.”

“Is there something I can do for you?” Bruce asked, allowing himself to sound exasperated. “Or did you just come in here to give me a hard time while I brush _your_ alpaca?”

Gerald stomped his foot. Bruce took this to mean that he was his own alpaca. Bruce patted him on the neck apologetically. 

Tony heaved a deep sigh. “Sadly, no––though this is very entertaining, and next time I’m definitely going to record it and send it to Nat. I need to go to New York for the day. There’s an issue with Stark Industries that requires... special attention.” He grimaced. 

“Better you than me,” Bruce said, turning back to the task at hand. Then he stopped. “Wait. Isn’t it––?”

“Yeah,” Tony said slowly. “It’s a therapy day.”

“Oh.”

“I wouldn’t even think about it, except... well, except there’s some light espionage brewing, and Pepper is at wit’s end. 

“Have you told Peter yet?”

“Yeah, we talked this morning before I came out here. I gave him the option to just cancel the appointment, but he insists he’s fine. I don’t really buy it, but if I cancel it after he told me not to, it’s going to really piss him off. What do you think?”

Bruce was so taken aback by Tony asking him for his opinion that it took him a few seconds to answer. “I think we’ll be okay here,” he finally said. “It’s not ideal, obviously, but Peter and I have gotten to know each other pretty well over the last few weeks.”

Tony didn’t look happy, but he nodded. “Yeah, I think so, too. Just––let him sleep if he wants to sleep, and make sure he eats something that isn’t just Doritos and frosting out of a can. If he’s angry, he can pound a bunch of dents out of one of my old suits. If he’s sad, we usually just watch TV. Let him talk if he wants to, but don’t push him.”

“Got it.” Bruce glanced at his watch. It was not quite eight o’clock. “How soon do you have to leave?”

“I’ve got an hour or so. I’m taking a suit.”

Bruce glanced at him sharply. He supposed that Tony could have been taking a suit purely for expediency, but there was a grim note in his voice that made him think otherwise. “Tony. You’d let me know if you needed help, right?”

Tony crossed his arms over his chest. “Natasha’s meeting me in New York. She’s probably bringing Steve, too. I have plenty of back-up. But that reminds me––you need to keep Pete off his phone and away from the news. I hope this thing resolves without fireworks, but it might... not.”

“Jesus.” Bruce finally put the brush down. “Does Peter know you’re worried enough to take Natasha as backup?”

“Peter thinks I’ve been harangued into a shareholders’ meeting, so, no,” Tony said. “And I’d rather he didn’t know what was going on until it’s over. I’ll explain everything when I get home tonight, but I can’t be worrying about him worrying about me today. It’s like the drop of water that’ll break the surface tension in my brain.”

Bruce understood, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He could only imagine how bad this could get, considering the nature of Peter’s baggage. “You know, you were worried about him being mad about you canceling his appointment with Dina, but he’s going to be _really_ mad when he realizes that you went haring off into danger and didn’t tell him.”

“I know. I’m trying to avoid having him mad at me now. He can be as mad at me as he wants later.”

Bruce hesitated. “Are you sure that’s the right move? This is none of my business,” he added, because he could see Tony starting to bristle, “I realize that. But... Tony, if something happened to you and he realizes you’d lied to him––imagine the fallout from that. Imagine what it would be like for Peter.”

Tony went quiet for a second. “Nothing is going to happen to me.”

“You can’t possibly know that. If you’re worried enough to bring Natasha and a suit, then you think there might be significant trouble.”

“It won’t help him to be worrying about me all day.”

“Will it help him to know that you’re honest with him, though? That you trust him?”

Tony opened his mouth, then shut it again. “Goddammit, Banner.”

Bruce put his hands up. “It’s not my business, I shouldn’t have––”

“No, you’re right.” Tony blew out a breath. “Annoyingly, incontrovertibly right.” He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “This is going to go so poorly.”

Bruce gave him a somewhat sheepish smile. “Sorry.” 

“No, don’t be.” Tony sighed. “Here I go, then. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Bruce said. Tony waved over his shoulder as he left the barn. 

Bruce took his time with the rest of the brushing, until Gerald started snorting at him. After the third snort and a stomp that came dangerously close to Bruce’s foot, he decided they were done. “All right, be free,” he said, stepping back. Gerald took immediate advantage and scooted out the door as quickly as possible. Bruce put the brushes and combs away and left his gloves on the bench just inside the barn door. 

He expected to walk in on an argument, but the house was quiet. He took a shower and emerged to find a still quiet house, though, glancing at his watch, Bruce realized it was just about the time Tony had wanted to leave. He put on a pot of coffee just for something to do and leaned against the counter. 

“Dr. Banner,” FRIDAY said from the speaker in the kitchen, “Mr. Stark requests your presence in Peter’s bathroom upstairs.”

“Oh, uh, okay,” Bruce said. He climbed the stairs to the second floor; he hadn’t been up there very often since Tony had shown him around when he’d first agreed to stay. But he knew which room was Peter’s; moreover, he could hear the murmur of voices from within. 

Bruce knocked lightly before he entered. “Tony? Peter?” 

“In here,” Tony responded. 

Bruce picked his way carefully through Peter’s bedroom, which was littered with the usual array of discarded clothes and bits and pieces of nerdy hobbies, to the bathroom. The door stood open, and through it he could see Peter and Tony sitting side by side on the floor. Peter was pale and sweaty and had his knees pulled up to his chest. 

“Everything okay here?” Bruce asked. He hovered awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before finally leaning against the door jamb. 

“Just a minor panic attack,” Tony said, reaching over to brush the hair out of Peter’s eyes. Peter let him. “But I think we’re feeling better now. Right, Pete?”

“Yeah.” Peter sounded exhausted. “Yeah, just... kind of a lot to take in.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to cancel with Dina?” Tony asked him. 

Peter shook his head. “If I’m going to freak out, it might as well be at the person you pay to deal with my freakouts.”

“I don’t mind if you freak out,” Bruce said mildly. 

“See, I told you,” Tony said to Peter. “Bruce doesn’t mind if you freak out. In fact, I guarantee that any freak out you might have _pales_ in comparison to Bruce’s freak outs. Literally.”

Bruce rolled his eyes, but Peter actually cracked a smile, so he couldn’t get too mad about it. 

“I’m fine now,” Peter said. “You need to go, don’t you?”

Tony checked his watch and grimaced. “Yeah, I do. I’ll check in, all right? And you can text Nat. It’s going to be fine.”

Peter nodded wordlessly. Tony leaned over and wrapped his arms around him, then kissed him on the forehead. “Love you, Pete,” he murmured. 

Peter hugged him back––a little too hard, if Tony’s faint _oof_ was anything to go by. “I love you. Try not to get blown up. In fact, tell Steve and Natasha that if you get blown up on their watch, I will never speak to them again.”

“Will do.” Tony gave him one last squeeze, and Peter let him go. He stood up and turned to face Bruce. 

“Don’t be an idiot, all right?” Bruce said. 

“No promises.” Tony hesitated, then leaned in and kissed him once, lightly. “I’ll see you tonight.”

He left before Bruce could decide how to answer. Seconds later, he heard the telltale sound of repulsors firing. They faded away into the distance. 

Bruce looked at Peter, then checked his watch. They had about half an hour before Dina would get here. Peter was still sitting on the bathroom floor, staring straight ahead with his arms wrapped around his knees. 

“Have you eaten?” Bruce asked. 

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled. 

Bruce surveyed him for a moment before sighing. He put his back against the wall and sank down to sit beside Peter. He didn’t speak, deciding that anything he said was probably going to come out sounding trite. 

After two or three minutes, Peter drew a shuddering breath. “Are your parents alive?”

It was not at all the question Bruce had expected. “Um. My mom isn’t. I’m not sure about my father, actually.”

“You haven’t talked to him since you’ve been back?”

Bruce tried to decide how much to tell Peter. Finally he said, “I don’t speak to him. He is not a good person. He was in prison as of two years ago, and he should still be there.”

“Oh,” Peter said, sounding quelled. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Bruce sighed. “I miss my mother very much.”

“I don’t really remember my parents,” Peter admitted. “But I miss May and Ben every day. And I’m... I’m really afraid of losing Tony. I just feel like... like there must be something wrong with me. Most kids don’t even lose one parent by the time they’re my age. I’ve lost _four_.”

“Are you talking to Dina about this?” Bruce asked, feeling well out of his depth. 

“Yeah. And I know... I know it’s not my fault, not really. But it’s hard not to feel like it sometimes.”

“I can see how that would be the case.”

Peter tilted his head back against the wall. “I guess it’s time to get up off the floor.”

“If you feel ready. Don’t do it on my account.”

Peter offered him a small smile. “You’re really patient. I’ve noticed that. Tony always wants things to be better right away. He’s gotten a lot more patient since we’ve been here, but he still has to work at it. You’re just naturally that way. It’s nice.”

“Thanks,” Bruce said, surprised. “I think patience is one of the reasons that I’m a scientist and Tony is an engineer. Tony always wants to fix the problem right in front of him. But sometimes it takes years to find the right solution, and sometimes the solution you find is to a different problem altogether.”

“Hmm. Never thought about it that way before.” Peter heaved a sigh and then pushed himself to his feet. He offered Bruce a hand up, which Bruce accepted, and then splashed some water on his face at the sink. He patted it dry with a towel and then said abruptly, “Dina’s here.”

Bruce hadn’t heard anything, but he trusted Peter’s enhanced hearing. “I’ll make myself scarce then. Anything in particular that you want for lunch?”

“I think we have leftover lasagna from the other night. Can we do that?”

“Sure.” Bruce squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “Take a minute. I’ll go let her in.”

Dina was waiting out on the porch. She was clearly surprised to see Bruce; they’d only ever seen each other in passing, since Bruce usually went to the compound on therapy days. “Tony had to go into the city,” Bruce said, deciding to leave it up to Peter to fill her in on the rest. “I’ll be around if you need me.”

“Tony isn’t here?” Dina said, eyebrows raised. 

“There was a last minute emergency,” Bruce said. “But Peter was determined to keep his appointment with you.”

“I see,” Dina said. Bruce had the impression that she actually did. 

Peter came down the stairs just then, so Bruce left them to it. He went outside to their neglected vegetable patch. The whole thing had been laid out in a slightly haphazard way before Bruce had arrived, but the strawberry plants were flowering at the very least. Tony had an irrigation system set up, so the agarden didn’t lack for water, but there were also a number of weeds coming up. Bruce slid on a pair of gardening gloves, got down in the dirt, and started pulling.

His phone buzzed after a moment or two. Bruce stripped his gloves off to check it. 

Tony had written, _Are you off the bathroom floor yet?_

Bruce smiled to himself. _Yes. He’s with Dina now._

_Thank you. I hope you realize that I wouldn’t leave him with just anyone, no matter the circumstances._

Bruce frowned, taken aback and slightly alarmed by Tony’s honesty. He went to sit on the bottom step of the porch stairs. _Your sincerity worries me. How are things going so far?_

_I need to overhaul the HR department because they’re clearly idiots if this asshole didn’t raise any red flags._

Bruce smirked. That was the Tony he knew. _You’re going to actually tell me the full story at some point, right? It sounds fascinating._

_It’s not. I’d rather not lease “Quentin Beck” anymore real estate in my head than he deserves, which is none, but sure, if you insist. Maybe I’ll find it funnier when it’s over._

_Tell you what_ , Bruce typed back. _If you tell me the full story, I’ll join you for a glass of scotch. The good stuff that tastes like the ground._

_I’ll hold you to that, Big Green. But for now, I should go. Captain Tight Pants says we need to focus._

_Ok. Stay safe. Check in when you can._

Bruce set his phone down. He wasn’t truly worried about Tony. If he hadn’t had Steve and Natasha as backup he might have been, but for all the water under that bridge, Bruce trusted them with Tony’s life. Still, things were clearly more complicated than Tony wanted to admit, and Bruce wished he were there to help in whatever way he could.

And yet, he knew Tony was right—someone had to stay with Peter, and it was an enormous amount of trust that Tony was placing in him. Peter’s life mattered far more to Tony than Tony’s own, that much was obvious. 

Equally obvious was that the opposite was true for Peter.

Bruce sighed. He supposed that it was inevitable that if you spent most of your adult life hanging out with superheroes, you’d collect friends who were all self-sacrificing and rather damaged. But that didn’t make it less exhausting.

The garden was mostly weeded by the time Dina came out of the house, a full two hours after she’d arrived. Bruce wasn’t sure if that was normal for Peter or not, but it seemed like a long session to him. 

He took his gloves off and shoved himself to his feet as she approached. “Peter said to tell you he was going to sleep for a while,” she said. 

“Right,” Bruce said. “And, um, how did it go?”

“Without breaking confidentiality...” She paused. “It was a hard session. But the good news is that he trusts you. Just be patient this afternoon. Tell Tony I’ll call him tomorrow, all right? And Peter knows he can text me if he needs to.”

“Thanks,” Bruce said, and gave her a little wave as she went to her car.

Even if Peter was asleep, Bruce decided, he himself was hungry, so he headed inside to heat up the lasagna. It would take a little while anyway, and Bruce decided he might as well make a salad to go with it.

The smell of the reheated lasagna did not draw Peter out of his room. Bruce ate by himself while reading a book he’d pulled off the living room bookshelves— _American Gods_ —and keeping one eye on his phone. It stayed quiet––no new messages.

It was nearly two o’clock by the time Peter came down. “Hey,” he said, pausing at the bottom of the stairs.

Bruce looked up. “Hi there.”

“Any word?” Peter asked, heading over to the lasagna on the stove.

“None yet. You’re not going to reheat that?” Bruce asked as Peter brought over the entire pan of now room-temp lasagna.

“Nah, this is fine,” Peter said, sticking his fork straight in. 

“How are you doing?” Bruce asked, after a few minutes of watching Peter inhale lasagna without saying a word.

Peter shrugged, mouth conveniently full.

“It’s pretty nice out,” Bruce tried. “I was thinking we might go for a walk or maybe take a kayak out.”

Peter swallowed. “No.”

“Are you sure? A distraction might––”

“ _No_.” Peter let his fork drop. “Look, I know I’m too useless to actually help right now, but I’m definitely not going to take the fucking kayak out, knowing that Tony might—” Peter snapped his mouth shut so hard, Bruce heard his teeth clack. 

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said after a moment. “And you’re not useless.”

Peter snorted. “Yeah, I am. I’m Spiderman, for crying out loud, but I’m too messed up right to actually put the suit on. So not only have I inflicted my terrible Parker luck on Tony—and it definitely has transitive properties, because May wasn’t a Parker by birth and she still had it—but I can’t even help him deal with the consequences.”

Bruce blinked. “That’s a lot to unpack.”

“Now you sound like Dina.”

“Did you talk about any of this with Dina?”

“Yeah. But sometimes...I dunno, the talking doesn’t always help, you know?” Peter shrugged and shoved his fork back into the lasagna.

“Yeah, I know,” Bruce said gently. 

Peter ploughed through the rest of the lasagna, though Bruce had the sense that it was more of a chore than a pleasure. When it was done, he got up and put the pan in the dishwasher. “I think I’m going to try and do some homework.”

Bruce was doubtful, but he wasn’t going to force Peter to do anything he didn’t want to. “All right. I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Thanks.” Peter disappeared up the stairs. 

Bruce glanced at his phone. Tony hadn’t texted, but he also didn’t have any alerts about incidents involving the Avengers. He thought about messaging Tony––or even Natasha––but he didn’t want to risk distracting either of them. No news was probably good news in this case. 

He read for about another hour, with one ear turned toward Peter upstairs. Things stayed quiet. He was just thinking about putting the book aside and maybe making some cookies––or seeing if Peter wanted to make “May cake” like he sometimes did on therapy days––when his phone buzzed with an incoming news notification. 

_The Avengers are battling a water monster in the Hudson River. Parts of Manhattan, Jersey City, and Hoboken have been evacuated._

“Shit,” Bruce said, just as the door to Peter’s room slammed open. 

“Bruce!” Peter yelled, throwing himself down the stairs. His eyes were wide and there were two hectic spots, high on his cheeks.

“Hey Peter,” Bruce said, standing. 

“Did you see?”

“I saw.”

“So? What are we waiting for?”

Bruce winced internally. He didn’t want to do this. Peter was just starting to trust him. But he knew that this was why Tony had left him here. “Peter. We’re not going to the city. Tony has Natasha and Steve with him.”

“Are you kidding me?” Peter stared at him. “We’re just going to fucking sit here?”

Bruce sighed. “Yes. That was the deal, remember? Tony wanted you to stay put. You agreed that was the right idea.”

“I don’t _care_ what I agreed to before. _Look_ at this!” Peter thrust his phone at Bruce, and he caught his first glimpse of the “water monster” in the Hudson. It was sizable, towering over the West Side Highway. “He needs us.”

Bruce shook his head. “He doesn’t.”

“You don’t know that!” Peter snapped. “And you can’t stop me if I do go.”

Bruce hesitated. “No,” he finally said. “I can’t stop you. And I won’t try.”

That seemed to bring Peter up short. “Really?”

“Yes.” Bruce shrugged, trying to feign casualness. “I’m not going to Hulk out and try and stop you. If you want to get in that car and drive down to the city, you can. But I ask you to please, please think about this. It’s going to take you––what, three hours? Maybe closer to four? By the time you get there, the fight is likely to be over.”

“The compound is closer,” Peter argued. “We could take a Quinjet.”

“Do you know how to fly a Quinjet?” Bruce countered. 

“No, but you do. Don’t you?”

“I do,” Bruce said. “But I’m not going to help you disobey Tony’s direct request to stay here.”

Peter clutched his hair. “That’s not fair! God, how can you just _sit_ there, like you don’t even care that Tony might die and we won’t have done _anything_ to try and help him?”

Bruce swallowed. “I do care. I care a lot. I hope you believe that. But Tony told us how we could help. He needed to be able to focus on the problem, so he asked you to stay at home, and he asked me to stay with you.”

“Baby-sitting,” Peter muttered bitterly. 

“Keeping you company,” Bruce corrected. He removed his glasses and let them dangle from his hand. “Maybe even keeping each other company. To be honest, I’m not sure how much good I’d be in that fight right now.”

That brought Peter up short. He glanced at Bruce, brow furrowing. “What do you mean? You’re the Hulk.”

Bruce shook his head. “I haven’t been the Hulk since Sakaar. I’m not sure I could change. Or if I did, that I’d change back afterward. We’ve gotten... out of balance, somehow.”

“Oh.” Peter’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know that.”

Bruce sat down on the sofa. “I haven’t said anything to anyone. Not even Tony.”

Peter sat down next to Bruce. “Why not?”

Bruce gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I told myself it was because it wasn’t relevant to my life right now, but the truth is probably that I’m afraid. I don’t really know what to do to fix it.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, looking down at his hands. “I don’t really know how to fix myself either. As long as we’re here, it kind of doesn’t matter that I can’t be Spiderman. But if we go back to the city, it will. And I still can’t seem to get my head screwed on straight.”

“You’re working really hard at it,” Bruce pointed out. “These things take time.”

“Yeah, that’s what Tony says. And Dina. I just wish it wouldn’t take so much time.” Peter rubbed his eyes, then scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Okay. You’re right. I’m not going to drive down there.”

Bruce nodded. “I think that’s the right choice.”

Peter glanced at the dark and silent TV. “May used to watch all my fights that ended up on TV––not that there were ever that many, really, I was kind of small-time, but every once in a while, a camera crew would turn out and I’d end up on NY1. I always told her not to watch, but she said she had to know.”

“Do you want to watch?” Bruce hoped like hell the answer was no. He didn’t think he could take the stress of watching Tony, Natasha, and Steve fight live, knowing he couldn’t back them up. But if Peter really insisted on it, he’d go along. 

Peter was silent for a moment, still staring. Then he shook his head. “But I kind of do want to watch something. Are you okay with _Star Trek_?”

“Whatever you want, Peter,” Bruce replied, handed him the remote. 

They settled side-by-side on the sofa. Both of them had their phones out, balanced on their knees. Peter scrolled through the streaming options until he found a particular episode of _Voyager_ and put it on. Bruce was a casual Trek fan at most, and he wasn’t very familiar with that series, but it was something to keep his brain occupied while they waited. 

One episode became two, and their phones stayed silent. The final credits had just rolled on the second one when Peter said abruptly, “My friend Ned says that people who like _Star Trek_ better than _Star Wars_ are more optimistic. Because the _Star Trek_ universe is better than ours. They don’t have money and everyone gets along and Star Fleet is like this force for good in the universe. My friend MJ always says that it’s a colonialist universe and it’s actually pretty messed up, and you can totally see that in the more recent stuff, but I think the original series was supposed to be utopian. Human beings at their best, exploring the universe and helping where they can.”

Bruce took a moment to process all of this. “That sounds right to me,” he finally said, “both what you said and your friend MJ’s analysis. So which one do you prefer?”

Peter slumped deeper into the sofa and pulled his hands inside his sleeves. “I don’t know. I was always a _Star Wars_ fan because my uncle and I used to watch it together, but Tony likes _Star Trek_ , so we tend to watch it more. He says we have to be able to imagine the future we want in order to create it. And even if it’s not perfect, it’s better to be trying to get somewhere than just... spinning our wheels.”

“Well, that’s Tony for you. He’s a futurist.”

“Yeah. True.” Peter fell silent again, relaxing deeper into the sofa and leaning a little closer to Bruce. 

Bruce spent the first few minutes of the next episode mulling over what Peter had said. He thought about himself at Peter’s age––young and smart but wracked with guilt and anger and fear, all vestiges of the horror show of his childhood. Science had saved him and destroyed him at the same time––saved him, in that it gave him purpose, something to live for, but destroyed him, in that it made him think there was nothing for him outside of his work. 

He waited until the episode ended before he spoke again. “I used to have a hard time imagining what my life was going to look like when I was about your age, or maybe a little older. It wasn’t until I was in college that I could really imagine a future for myself, and even then, it was just work. I hadn’t had a lot of good examples of what adult relationships or happiness could look like.”

“Oh,” Peter said, almost inaudibly. He swallowed. “I... I’ve had that. Ben and May loved each other so much. I don’t think that’s my problem.”

“Then what is?”

Peter shrugged. “Everyone I love keeps dying young. My parents were thirty. Ben was forty-three, May was forty-five. And then with the Spiderman thing, I just... I don’t see myself getting to have a normal life and living to a ripe old age and dying in my sleep.” He glanced sideways at Bruce. “Please don’t tell Tony I said that. He’d freak out.”

“I won’t.”

“Yeah. I know you won’t. Anyway.” Peter shrugged. “I think that’s maybe why I have a hard time with it. But I know Tony doesn’t,” he added with a small smile. “I think he’s got the next fifteen years all mapped out for me. MIT, then coming to work at Stark Industries, taking over R&D by thirty and the whole thing by thirty-five so Pepper can finally retire.”

“Is that what you want?” Bruce asked. 

Peter chewed his lip. “Maybe? I don’t know. Seems stressful.”

“I think Tony wants you to be happy more than he wants anything else.” Bruce turned to face Peter more directly. “SI is his legacy and you’re his kid. I understand why he wants you to take over. But mostly he just wants you to have a good life, whatever that looks like for you. It’s okay that you can’t imagine it right now. You’ve been through a lot. But it also seems to me that you’ve had a lot of people love you, so you’ve got a good foundation to build something on when you’re ready.”

Peter’s eyes looked a little bright. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “That actually kind of helps. I, um.” He cleared his throat. “I’m really glad you came back to Earth.”

“Me too,” Bruce said. 

Peter’s phone started buzzing. He flipped it over with lightning fast reflexes and sucked in a breath. “It’s Tony.” He answered it. “Tony?” he demanded breathlessly. There was a beat and then he relaxed all at once. “Oh my God. Yeah, I’m okay. It was just––I saw the news and it looked pretty bad, and there was no way to get there... Yeah, I know. Is everyone okay? Oh, yeah, sure, he’s right here.” Peter put the phone on his knee and hit the speaker button. “You’re on speaker.”

“Thanks, bud. Hey Bruce,” Tony said, sounding exhausted. 

“Hi, Tony,” Bruce said. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah—well, mostly, I got knocked around pretty good in the suit, I think I might have a cracked rib or two—“

_“And a concussion.”_

That was Steve’s voice, unmistakably. “I don’t have a concussion,” Tony replied irritably. 

_“Sure, Tony. We’ll see what Cho says.”_

Tony heaved a sigh. “Did you catch that?”

“You’re heading to the compound?” Bruce asked. 

“Yeah. Soon as I’m cleared by medical, I’ll be home.”

“Bold of you to think we’re letting you fly yourself home,” Peter said, standing. “We’ll meet you at the compound.”

“What? No, that really isn’t—”

“Yes, it is, Tony,” Bruce said, as Peter ran up the stairs, presumably to put shoes on, leaving his phone behind. “Don’t even argue.”

Tony was silent for a beat. “How did the two of you do?”

“Pretty well, all things considered. But there’s no way either of us is going to wait here for you to get home.”

“Okay, okay, I guess that’s—hey, what are you—“

“Hi Bruce,” Nat said. _Bullies, all of you_ , Bruce heard Tony grumble in the background. “You think Peter would be up for team dinner?”

“I think so,” Bruce said. “I’ll ask him in the car.” Peter bolted back down the stairs and straight out the front door. “That’s my cue. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon,” Tony said, apparently having stolen the phone back. There was a hint of extra warmth in his voice. Tony loved spectacle but hated a fuss, but he’d clearly realized he had no choice here. Bruce suspected he didn’t even mind. 

***

Peter spent the first part of the drive to the compound fiddling with the radio. It drove Bruce slightly crazy but he let it go, until at last Peter gave up and stared out the window. 

“Nat asked me if we would stay for team dinner,” Bruce said then. “What do you think?”

Peter grimaced. “Do we have to?”

“No. On the other hand, it might be nice. I miss team dinners.”

“I’ve never been to one.”

“They were always fun,” Bruce said. “Chaotic, but fun, the way big family dinners are.”

Peter hummed. “I think Tony misses it. He pretends he doesn’t but I can tell.”

Bruce nodded. “I think so, too.”

Peter heaved a sigh. “All right. As long as Tony is feeling up for it, I’m okay with it.”

He sounded a little reluctant. Bruce supposed that wasn’t all that strange; he and Tony had been a world unto themselves for months, until Bruce had shown up. He’d said he missed Natasha, but it still probably felt weird to have things change so abruptly.

Bruce let him be until they reached the compound. They’d barely pulled to a stop at the top of the drive when Peter lurched out of the car and ran up the stairs and past Steve, who was coming out to greet them. 

Steve was still in his uniform, though not the one Bruce was familiar with. This one was black and decidedly un-spangled. Bruce decided not to remark on it. 

“Hey there,” Bruce said, climbing out of the car. “How did it go?”

Steve shook his head, shielding his eyes against the setting sun. “Oh you know. Water monster made of drones in the Hudson, disgruntled and psychotic former SI employee, illusions of Bucky falling to his death—just your average Tuesday.”

“Yikes.”

“Yep. It was still the most fun I’ve had in months.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “You’re insane.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“But it’s all taken care of?”

Steve nodded. “Quentin Beck won’t be bothering us again, and neither the injuries nor the property damage was as bad as it could have been.”

_As bad as it could have been _was not _nothing_ , Bruce well knew, but Steve seemed pretty relaxed all things considered. Bruce let him lead him into the compound. They turned down a different corridor than the one Bruce was used to taking to the living quarters. This wing had a far more institutional feel to it, and, as they continued, a distinctly medical smell. __

__Peter had beaten them to the hospital wing, of course. He was already in Tony’s room when Bruce and Steve arrived, sitting cross legged on the end of Tony’s bed, one hand firmly on Tony’s foot. Tony himself looked pale and tired, bruised, with a row of butterfly bandages across his forehead. But he was sitting up, wearing pajama pants and a too-big t-shirt instead of a hospital gown, and he smiled when he saw Bruce._ _

__“I feel like I should protest one more time about the two of you coming all the way down here,” Tony said, as Bruce pulled a chair up to his bedside. Steve had already made a discreet exit._ _

__“Don’t even,” Peter said._ _

__“Seconded.” Bruce hovered, hesitating, until Tony reached up and hooked two fingers into his shirt, to haul him in for a kiss. Bruce felt his ears turn red, but when he glanced over at Peter afterward, he was smiling._ _

__“All right, so are you finally going to give us the full story?” Bruce asked, taking a seat. “I feel like all I’ve gotten are some fascinating snippets.”_ _

__Tony made a face. “It’s mostly a cautionary tale about why background checks are important in hiring––though Pepper thinks a lot of Beck’s information was forged, and therefore I shouldn’t hold HR completely responsible. I think I’ve told both of you about the BARF technology, right?”_ _

__Bruce rolled his eyes. “Yes,” he said, echoed by Peter._ _

__“God, you both just got the exact same look on your face,” Tony muttered. “Anyway, I can admit that in this case my penchant for acronyms may have been a little... misguided. Beck didn’t much like it, either, though I had no idea how much until he decided to try and use it to distract us while he seized control of the Stark Industries satellites. Fortunately, Pepper is about a thousand percent smarter than him and realized what was going on in time for us to put a stop to it.”_ _

__“So the water monster was the BARF technology?” Peter said, frowning._ _

__“Yes. Made up of drones. And inside there were a lot of goodies waiting for all of us.” For a second Tony blinked, looking haunted, but then he looked at Peter, and his face relaxed. “It’s too bad he’s evil, because he’s also a genius––he took the tech so much farther than I ever bothered to.”_ _

__“Where is he now?” Bruce asked._ _

__“In custody with Fury and the DODC,” Tony said, sounding tired. “He won’t bother us again.”_ _

__Looking at Tony, Bruce was sure there was a lot that he was leaving out, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have said they were safe if they weren’t. He covered Tony’s hand with his own and squeezed. “How are you doing?” he asked._ _

__“And we’ll know if you lie to us,” Peter added._ _

__“What have I done, bringing the two of you together?” Tony sighed. “I’m fine. Sore, but nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”_ _

__Peter pulled his knees into his chest. “Did you like being back in the suit?”_ _

__Tony nudged him with his foot. “Sort of. I love flying. The fighting wasn’t a lot of fun. And I missed having you at my side, kiddo.”_ _

__Peter ducked his head. “I wanted to come down when I saw what was happening, but Bruce convinced me it was better not to.”_ _

__Tony shot Bruce a brief but intensely grateful look. “He was right.”_ _

__“I didn’t like it, though. At all. I think...” Peter paused, swallowed. “I think I want to pull the suit out and see how it feels. I don’t want to be stuck at home like this again.”_ _

__“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” Tony asked, brow furrowed._ _

__“No,” Peter admitted. “But I think I want to be.” He looked up and met Tony’s eyes._ _

__Tony nodded. “Okay, kiddo. We can do that.”_ _

__Peter relaxed. He’d obviously expected an argument about it. Maybe there would be eventually, but for the moment, Tony seemed content to let Peter take the lead on this._ _

__“So are we really staying for team dinner?” Tony asked, sounding faintly sulky._ _

__“We don’t have to,” Peter said, before Bruce could answer. “If you’re too tired, we can just head home.”_ _

__Tony glanced at Bruce. “You want to.”_ _

__Bruce shrugged. “Yes, but only if you feel up to it.”_ _

__Tony looked at Peter for a moment, then looked back at Bruce. “Could you give us a minute?”_ _

__“Sure, of course.” Bruce squeezed Tony’s hand one last time and took his leave._ _

__The communal kitchen was deserted. Natasha and Steve were probably still showering. Bruce poked through the cupboards and the fridge until he decided on veggie tacos. If Peter and Tony decided they didn’t want to stay, it’d be easy to hand it over to Steve and Nat to finish._ _

__He was frying up bell peppers and onions in spices when the elevator dinged, and Steve emerged, freshly scrubbed with his hair still damp. “Smells good,” he said, leaning against the kitchen counter._ _

__“Thanks. I’m doing these vegetarian, but if you want chicken or sausage, it’s in the fridge.”_ _

__“Or how about eggs?” Steve suggested. “Good protein, still vegetarian.”_ _

__“Sure.”_ _

__And so the vegetarian tacos morphed into vegetarian breakfast tacos. Steve started breaking eggs into a giant bowl. Natasha appeared a few minutes later, and Bruce set her to work grating cheese. She had a bruise blooming on her cheekbone, and tellingly chose to sit rather than stand while she worked, but otherwise she looked fine._ _

__The tacos were nearly done when the elevator opened again, and Peter and Tony emerged. Tony had his arm around Peter’s shoulders, and Peter had his arm around Tony’s waist. For the life of him, Bruce couldn’t have said who was holding whom up._ _

__“If we hadn’t already decided to stay, I think we’d be changing our minds,” Tony said. The levity in his voice only sounded slightly forced. “This looks great.”_ _

__“Can I help?” Peter asked._ _

__“Nope, we’re nearly done,” Bruce said. “You can sit.”_ _

__In less than five minutes, the food was ready. They set it out family style in the middle of the kitchen island, along with sour cream and salsa and hot sauce, and started passing things around._ _

__It was a more tense atmosphere than Bruce was used to. Tony was sitting between him and Peter, and Natasha and Steve were across from them, which gave the sensation of it being more like a peace treaty between two warring factions than a family dinner. Steve was quiet––worried about saying the wrong thing again, Bruce suspected. Bruce and Natasha carefully carried the conversation between the two of them, drawing in the others when they could. It wasn’t comfortable, exactly, but it was still a good first try._ _

__And at the end, as they were loading the dishwasher and getting ready to leave, Peter said, “So, uh... I was thinking I might come back in a couple of weeks? Maybe do some training?”_ _

__Steve turned so fast, he almost sprayed Natasha with the faucet he was holding. “Really?”_ _

__Peter nodded. “The suit needs a tune up, but once we’re done with it... I miss swinging.”_ _

__Tony cleared his throat. “Maybe we can even do dinner again.”_ _

__He looked at Steve as he said it. Steve ducked his head; Bruce saw him _want_ to say something, but in the end, he let it go. Maybe for the best, for now. This was already a lot of progress for one day. _ _

__“That would be nice,” Natasha said, smiling at him. “As you know, we have an extremely busy social calendar, but we’ll try to squeeze you in.”_ _

__Peter laughed. He accepted a hug from Natasha and a squeeze on the shoulder from Steve. Bruce got his own hugs. Tony let Natasha hug him, and when Steve offered him his hand, he took it._ _

__“Thanks for the help today, both of you,” Tony said, sounding less reluctant than Bruce had expected. “I know it wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.”_ _

__“Anytime, Tony,” Steve said quietly. “You know that.”_ _

__Bruce watched Tony meet Steve’s eyes. He nodded. “Yeah. I do.”_ _

__***_ _

__The drive back to the lake house was quiet. Tony and Peter both fell asleep, Tony in the front seat and Peter in the back, leaving Bruce alone with his thoughts. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, though; Bruce was used to a certain amount of solitude, and he hadn’t had much of it since he’d moved up to the lake house._ _

__He was starting to believe––maybe despite himself––that he would be allowed to keep this. Peter seemed to like him, and not only for Tony’s sake. And as for Tony himself... Bruce knew how muh it meant that he had entrusted Bruce with Peter’s safety today._ _

__There was a lot up in the air still. Bruce didn’t know where things stood with the Hulk, and he should probably sort that out. Things were still tense between Tony and Steve. Peter was still carrying around a mountain of baggage. But Bruce was starting to believe that his place with Peter and Tony was something real. A solid foundation, like he’d told Peter, for them to build on._ _

__He hadn’t had that in years, decades––maybe never, in fact. Even when he and Tony had been together before, he’d known somehow that it couldn’t last. That somehow in the end, who and what he was would ruin it. Maybe he was being foolishly naive, but he didn’t have that feeling now._ _

__What would it be like to feel so safe, so secure, and believe that it could last? Bruce could hardly fathom it._ _

__The sweep of driveway up to the house was pitch dark. Bruce drove slowly and pulled in alongside Tony’s car. He cut the engine, then reached over and cupped Tony’s face with his hand. “Hey, we’re home,” he said, as Tony stirred._ _

__“Oh hey, we are,” Tony said sleepily. “Thanks for driving. Didn’t mean to pass out on you.”_ _

__“That’s okay. Peter’s asleep, too.”_ _

__“Mmm. Long day.”_ _

__“Yeah. Why don’t you head up to bed? I need to check on Gerald. We didn’t put him inside before we left.”_ _

__“You and Gerald,” Tony mumbled as he undid his seatbelt. “I know where your real loyalties lie, Banner.” He slid out of the car and opened the door to the backseat. “Hey, kiddo, we’re home. Come on, let’s go inside and go to bed.”_ _

__“Mmph. C’n sleep here,” Peter grumbled, pulling away from Tony._ _

__“You’re not sleeping in the car. Come on. Your bed awaits.”_ _

__Peter grumbled again, but dragged himself out of the car. He and Tony headed up the stairs to the porch and disappeared inside. Bruce used the flashlight on his phone to follow the path down toward Gerald’s barn._ _

__Gerald had already put himself to bed, it turned out. He huffed at Bruce as he came in. Bruce added some fresh hay and water to his trough, then paused, hand on Gerald’s neck. “See you in the morning, bud,” he said, and closed the barn door on his way back out._ _

__He’d expected Tony and Peter to have gone upstairs already, but the light was on in the kitchen. Tony was putting the kettle on._ _

__“I thought you’d be in bed by now,” Bruce said._ _

__“I can’t take another dose of my painkillers for another hour, and I won’t be able to sleep until I do. Tea? We might have to raincheck the whiskey until I’m not on narcotics.”_ _

__Bruce had forgotten all about the promise he’d made that morning. “Sure.”_ _

__They took their mugs of tea into the living room and sat down on the sofa. Bruce put his arm across its back, trying to look inviting. Tony took the bait, tucking himself closer and leaning his head on Bruce’s shoulder._ _

__“How are you feeling?” Bruce asked._ _

__“Tired. Sore. Kind of stupid.”_ _

__“Why stupid?”_ _

__“This thing today feels... preventable. Beck was clearly off the deep end, but it seems like my behavior might’ve given him a shove. Maybe if I hadn’t been so self-centered, he wouldn’t have gone all homicidal evil genius on us.”_ _

__“Maybe,” Bruce said doubtfully. “I don’t think you can really blame yourself, though. Maybe just be aware, going forward, of how you treat other people’s work.”_ _

__“Now that’s just far too reasonable,” Tony said. “I was really working up some nice angsty guilt and self-recrimination, and here you are telling me to just learn from it and move on. Where’s the fun in that?”_ _

__Bruce chuckled. “Well, I’m better at dispensing that advice than I am at taking it.”_ _

__“Mmm.” Tony didn’t exactly disagree, Bruce noticed. “Speaking of, Peter said the two of you had a nice conversation this afternoon. Thank you for being there for him. I know that couldn’t have been easy.”_ _

__“It wasn’t so difficult,” Bruce said. “He’s a good kid.”_ _

__“He is. Stubbornly self-sacrificing, though.”_ _

__“Well, gosh, who else do I know who’s stubbornly self-sacrificing?”_ _

__“Shut up,” Tony said easily. He sighed deeply, sinking deeper into Bruce’s side. “You make a great body pillow, you know.”_ _

__“Do I?” Bruce replied, holding Tony a little more firmly._ _

__“Mmm. You do. Want to join me upstairs tonight?”_ _

__Bruce went still. Somehow, he’d not expected that. “Really?”_ _

__“Really. I’m not up for anything even remotely athletic, but I’d like you with me. If you want to be.”_ _

__“I do want to be,” Bruce said, trying not to sound too overly eager._ _

__Tony looked up at him. The corners of his eyes crinkled faintly. The lines had gotten deeper there, Bruce had noticed, but in a way that made him look happier, somehow. Like he’d been smiling more the last couple of years. “And maybe sometime soon, the three of us can go down to the city together for a weekend. I still have the penthouse at Stark Tower. Peter can stay with his friend Ned, and you and I can stay there. Without any sensitive teenage ears nearby for us to traumatize.”_ _

__Bruce smiled. “I’d like that.”_ _

__“Yeah.” Tony yawned. “Me too.”_ _

__He was clearly on the verge of falling asleep. “Come on,” Bruce said, prodding him into sitting up. “Let’s go upstairs and get comfortable. You can have your painkillers a couple minutes early.”_ _

__He turned off the lights in the kitchen on his way past and let Tony lean on him as they climbed the stairs. He helped Tony change into pajamas, wincing when he saw the extent of the bruises on Tony’s torso. They were already purple and dark, and he made Tony lie down so he could smooth arnica onto them, anyway, keeping his touch as light as possible._ _

__Tony was basically asleep when he swallowed his pills under Bruce’s watchful eye. Bruce went downstairs to change into pajamas, and then came back up to climb into the unoccupied half of Tony’s bed. It had been a long time since he’d last shared with anyone; it had been Tony, in fact, in his enormous bed at Stark Tower. His bed here was smaller, but the mattress was still soft, the sheets just as luxurious as anything Tony owned. But most important was the warmth emanating from Tony in the other half of the bed––the soft, inescapable presence of him._ _

__Bruce didn't want to risk waking him, but he found himself reaching out all the same. He rested his hand in the center of Tony’s chest, where the arc reactor used to be, and closed his eyes, knowing, with every fiber of himself, two things._ _

__Tomorrow was a new day, and he was right where he belonged._ _

___Fin_._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe and sane, my friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2... soon! Stay safe and be well, my friends.


End file.
